This somber but deliriously romantic movie is a great favorite of
people the world over, largely because of its superb black-and-white
photography of New York city. It was the greatest triumph of the master
cinematographer Joseph H. August, who died just as shooting ended.
'Portrait of Jennie' was one of the first major films to do extensive
location work in New York, and the effort made to shoot on the streets
and in Central Park really pays off: this unusual fantasy is given a
solid foundation in reality -- while the city itself is shot in such a
way that it meets the film halfway, becomes dream-like, almost surreal.
The best scenes in the film represent some of the finest
black-and-white photography of all time.

On the other hand, the story is set in the early 1930s, though the
production design by J. McMillan Johnson and Joseph B. Platt looks
exactly like the late 1940s, when the movie was made. There's rarely
been a "period" film that looked less like one. This strange "error,"
however, is probably not due to the production designers themselves,
but to obsessive producer David O. Selznick.

From 'Gone With the Wind' until the end of his life, Selznick tried way
too hard to make sure that his obituaries would not read "Producer of
'Gone with the Wind'" dies -- and because of this effort, that's
exactly how his obituaries did read. Almost all of his post-GWTW
personal productions -- a surprisingly small number -- were bloated and
elephantine. And worse, Selznick meddled steadily from script to final
cut, often insisting -- as with 'Portrait of Jennie' -- on endless
reshoots, recuts and other alterations. The movies almost inevitably
wound up confusing, overstated, and overemphatic in the wrong areas.

'Portrait of Jennie,' however, works very well most of the time. It's a
full-scale fantasy, directed by William Dieterle, a tasteful,
intelligent director who stayed close to the storyline (from Robert
Nathan's novel), despite all of Selznick's interference and
restructuring.

The movie opens with a vast expanse of belching clouds, complete with
quotes from Keats and Euripides, in a misguided effort to ease Regular
People into the fantasy and to lend an air of importance to the movie's
delicate story. Furthermore, most of the film is narrated by Joseph
Cotten in character as artist Eben Adams, whose most famous work,
Portrait of Jennie (1934) hangs in a prestigious New York museum.
There's an effort to convince us the story is true, as if the audience
really cares.

In the early 1930s, Eben is a struggling artist whose work is very
promising, but essentially routine, lacking in spirit. A dealer (Ethel
Barrymore) takes some interest in him, but urges him to seek the
passion in life. Soon thereafter, on a wintry afternoon in Central
Park, Eben meets young Jennie (Jennifer Jones), who seems to be about
12, or so we're told -- Jones is not convincing at this age, but she is
more so later on.

He's enchanted by the outgoing child, whom he meets a few days later --
but she's now several years older. He finds evidence that Jennie is
coming across time to meet him at increasingly older ages; the youngest
incarnation says she's going to hurry up and grow so they can be
together, and that's exactly what happens. Each time he meets her,
she's a few years older, passing through time in a way the movie
doesn't even suggest an explanation for. And he does fall in love with
her.

Furthermore, his sketches of her begin to express the passion his
friend the dealer has urged him to seek in himself, and he becomes an
increasingly better painter. He picks up a few bucks here and there,
thanks to a couple of Irish friends (David Wayne and Albert Sharpe),
but it's his work about Jennie that really matters.

The story leads to a gigantic, overblown climax in New England as a
remote abandoned lighthouse is battered by a tidal wave. (In fact, when
'Portrait of Jennie' flopped under that title, it was reissued as
'Tidal Wave.') At this point, the movie turns green, and in selected
theaters, the screen itself got larger. This isn't likely to happen on
your TV set. Finally, in the very last scene, we see his Portrait of
Jennie fully for the first time -- and the shot is in delicate
Technicolor.

'Portrait of Jennie' is seriously flawed both as a romance and on a
narrative level; sometimes Eben acts as if there's nothing remotely
unusual about seeing a child grow to a woman in a matter of months, at
other times it's as if it isn't even happening. About 2/3 of the way
through, the movie lurches in the direction of religion, with Jennie
sent off to a convent (though, as the film repeatedly states, she's not
Catholic), which seems to exist outside of time for a while, then
catches up later.

Selznick had fallen deeply in love with Jennifer Jones, and married her
before the film was completed; the movie is largely a rapturous love
letter to her -- but more objectivity would have helped in making
Jennie-as-a-child more believable. But after her first appearance,
Jones is much more convincing, so much so that the ending, intended to
be bittersweet, can take you aback and seem more like a tragedy than a
kind of romantic fulfillment.

Cotten was always fine; it's impossible to find an uncaring,
thoughtless performance by this actor. He's handicapped here by the
inconsistent script, and probably by the reshoots (watch the scene with
him and Lillian Gish -- it's clearly made of several versions), but his
sense of reality and truth win out. It's more likely Selznick's fault
than Cotten's that the actor never really seems like a painter: too
well dressed. And we're never given a hint of his background.

The big Tidal Wave sequence, coming partway through Chapter 24, just
about overwhelms the fragile fantasy of the movie, is the highlight for
the home theater buff. Without Dolby 5.1 or the superior recording
techniques of today, the sequence is still thunderous and magnificent,
marred only by poor miniatures of the boats. There's an "aerial" shot
of the lighthouse that effects technicians of today would be
hard-pressed to improve upon.

The movie tries to evoke the idea that this is the tale of an artist
(rather than just the story of a romance) by adding a kind of
canvas-looking overlay to introductory scenes. Also, usually when
Jennie turns up again, she appears to move toward Eben out of light,
suggesting a kind of doorway between her time and his. But like the
rest of the movie this is inconsistent. (Having the portrait itself
literally glow is a bit much.) Coloring the tidal wave sequence green
doesn't seem to add much -- aren't such waves gray-blue anyway? But
that last shot of the portrait itself is as magical as Selznick wanted
it to be.

'Portrait of Jennie' is a favorite of many people the world over,
usually those who caught it on TV when they were teenagers. It has the
kind of dreamy romanticism that often engages the affection of
teenagers -- and could very well catch yours, too. It's an awkward
movie, but at its best, it's one of the great romantic fantasies. Too
bad Selznick couldn't have left the filmmakers more to their devices.

No extras other than an evasive trailer; the folder includes good production notes by Bruce Eder.